


Bahamut's Dungeon

by Jerevinan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Doppelganger, Healing Kisses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerevinan/pseuds/Jerevinan
Summary: Ardyn had no one, nothing—just the company of the daemons he harbored in his body, that kept him alive in a world that still failed to remember his good deeds.Here in this prison, his doppelganger had Noctis—for a little while.





	Bahamut's Dungeon

Noctis opened his eyes and stood, eyes adjusting to the brightness of a crystalline world. Shimmering particles of blues and purples drifted through the air. He reached out to touch one, but it passed through his fingers.

What had happened? He remembered bits and pieces—being sucked into the crystal and away from his comrades while they fought off hordes of daemons, Ardyn’s bitter words, listening to Bahamut’s explanations…

Barbed wire clenched around his heart when he thought of their conversation and the revelations that had come to pass. He had always wanted to work toward a Lucis where everyone could live safe and normally. Now he understood that he would not be able to enjoy it with them when he took back his city, his throne.

But what did he do until then, while trapped in the crystal? Shouldn’t he be training? There ought to be weapons and battles, something that strengthened his body and mind for the future. Preparation to fight with his utmost before his death. 

Instead, Noctis found nothing. No tangible objects, not even holograms of people he knew or events of the past, future, or present. A whole lot of nothing. Maybe a test, then, to see if he would grow mad from boredom. Anyone would fail that, especially when he used to have so many fun things to do in-between his duties. Boredom didn’t exist when he could play King’s Knight—

King’s Knight! He pulled out the phone, a tugging at the back of his mind that said crystals didn’t get reception. They didn’t have chargers, either. Sure enough, there were no bars. No cell towers, no outlets. Only little pieces of reflecting light and misty colors in the backdrop.

He slid his phone back into his pocket and attempted to walk in a straight line through this world in the hopes that he would come upon something that resembled the reality he had left behind. As if calling to his needs, walls began to form. Memories reflected off the stones around him and took shape. But they weren’t his memories. He walked by the Citadel and saw cars that had gone out of style long before the Regalia had ever been designed. While he did not spot people, he could sense from the style and décor of everything around him that this had to be Insomnia from several decades ago.

Noctis lowered his gaze and continued on, passing by the gates. Buildings around him shifted, and he found himself standing before a crumbling tower of stone. 

Old art had captured what the previous Citadel once looked like, before Insomnia had become a glorious metropolis with technology that spawned cars and roadways. This place existed in a time Noctis had always been grateful not to live in. One without phones and computers, where children were raised by the rod and taught to fight with one their whole lives. The only scenery familiar to Noctis was the barrier above his head. The old wall! So much more expansive than the one his father commanded.

Noctis felt something pulling him toward the old tower—the Citadel that stood before the one he grew up in. But it wasn’t entirely a stranger to him. As he made his way through the vacant basements, he recognized some of the old catacombs. The stones in the wall were less aged than the ones he used to run his grimy childish fingers across as he dashed ahead of Ignis into forbidden areas. The ones that witnessed him slipping out of the Citadel at night to gaze at the stars. 

What led him back down those dusty paths, he didn’t know. Something called to him, an echo through his bones—a tug from the blood that ran through his veins. He came upon an unfamiliar wooden door. It creaked as it opened, revealing a stairwell into darkness. Noctis patted his palm against the wall as he took them, one at a time. The light of the crystal did not reach him down here. No glittering fragments floating in the air, none of the endless aurora that had replaced the night’s sky. 

At the bottom of the stairs, flames burst to life in wall lanterns like an invitation down the corridor. Past a guard’s station—devoid of any life, not even a mug or pen resting on the table—was a series of cells. None of them were occupied.

At the end, he found an interrogation room. Or perhaps ‘toture’ might have been more accurate a description; lined up along the back wall, chains with iron bracelets and anklets were secured to the wall. Some devices Noctis didn’t recognize from any of his history books lay on the wooden tables in the middle of the vast space. Things that must have been unpopular enough to last long, either from their ineffectiveness as a torture device or because someone had held objection to its usage. Noctis supposed the former to be more likely. He recognized the scold’s bridle and his fingers went to his lips.

Time to get out of this place. Hadn’t he left history classes behind in the Crown City? Everything in the room had been outlawed even in Mors’ time. 

As he turned, a familiar figure blocked the doorway, haloed by the light from the hall. 

“Appalling, is it not?” asked Ardyn in a light voice, sweeping his hand around the room. He stepped closer to Noctis, who backed away. 

Something didn’t seem right about Ardyn—this figure was as much a projection as the tools and Citadel dungeon walls around him. Noctis could sense that. Did he feel fear? No, something else. 

Sickness. The mere thought of Ardyn made anger bubble through him, made his stomach twist in indignation and pity. 

“Did they torture you?” asked Noctis. “When your brother stole everything from you, did he lock you in here?” 

Ardyn’s eyes flashed with anger. A quiet “yes” while his lips formed around a different word.

“No.” Ardyn’s expression softened. “I was locked in a prison on Angelgard, for all the world to shun. To leave me forgotten.”

Beyond his denial about this prison, the rest didn’t sound like a lie. And if Ardyn’s brother wanted the world to forget Ardyn, his plan had worked. History was written by the very men who led it—erasing their deceits, hushing the voices of their enemies, redecorating their accomplishments. 

But still… “That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done.”

The projection from the crystal reached out and grasped Noctis’ hand before he could skip out of the way. The dungeon walls around them flashed with other places, as if nothing more than a theatre screen. Each one flickered briefly. A crowd cheering on a man as he strode into a village on chocobo-back. Dozens of people thanking a man with kisses to his fingers. 

A dark room with someone whose facial structure resembled Ardyn’s, circling his brother with disgust in his eyes. Noctis felt the weight in the room on his shoulders, tasted the anger and betrayal against his tongue.

A prison on an island, with only the moonlight for comfort through the slit of a window.

Noctis closed his eyes against the images. Tears pressed through and trickled down his cheeks. He felt every emotion that had accompanied those moments. The joy and caring of a man who wanted to help his people—he knew that feeling. Deeply settled in his chest was an equal love, one that Luna and his father had shared as well. The pain that sliced through that love in other visions cut deep enough that Noctis fell forward into Ardyn’s arms.

The smell of gardenias he had come to familiarize himself with every time the man was around filled his nostils as he rested his head against the fabric of Ardyn’s coat. Noctis’ eyes fluttered open. As he tilted his head up to gaze at Ardyn, their lips met. 

Noctis melted into the kiss. How different it felt from the playful, sweet kisses he exchanged with Ignis. This was a transfer of pain, searing against his lips. It left traces of black on Ardyn, but those seeped into the skin.

Noctis felt better for it. Had this been the real Ardyn, he wouldn’t have kissed him—wouldn’t have stayed in his arms. This was a manifestation of all the emotions and experiences the actual man had gone through. Something shown through the crystal. But why?

Noctis didn’t want to think about it. He reached up and kissed Ardyn again, fingers threading through his auburn waves. 

It took all of five seconds before Noctis reconsidered. This might not have been the Ardyn who tormented Prompto or stole the breath from Luna, but why did Noctis want to kiss him? There shouldn’t have been an answer for it, but Noctis could think of one immediately.

To heal Ardyn’s pain. To make the emotions Noctis felt earlier hurt less. Noctis had never been stripped of his support, left unguided and alone in a world that resented him. The only way he could have ever felt that depth of despair was if he returned to find Ignis, Prompto, and Gladiolus had shunned him during his time in the crystal. If they locked him in a prison and let die his memory.

But they wouldn’t. Noctis had faith in that. Ardyn had no one, nothing—just the company of the daemons he harbored in his body, that kept him alive in a world that still failed to remember his good deeds.

Here in this prison, his doppelganger had Noctis—for a little while. The prison walls had returned around them, and Ardyn swept his hand across one of the tables, knocking torture devices to the stone floor with a violent clatter. He laid Noctis flat against the surface, kissing him down his jaw and along one of his collarbones, hands raking against Noctis’ abdomen. Ardyn dismissed his coat on a chair, the sleeves of his shirt tickling along Noctis’ skin.

Something changed in Ardyn each time Noctis returned the affection. Some line in his face would smooth out, and the pain in his eyes would lessen. He grew younger and younger with each touch, each kiss.

The man who kneeled before Noctis and took his full erection into his mouth looked no more than twenty-five. Noctis continued to be gentle with him, running his fingers through his hair as if praising a good pet. All the aches and pain stripped away from both of them, leaving Noctis with a new understanding of Ardyn.

When he was spent, he combed back Ardyn’s hair from his face.

“I’ll end it for you,” he promised.

The fake Ardyn shimmered away, a youthful innocence lingering on his face. Noctis couldn’t find any trace of him. Even his discarded coat had disappeared.

The world depicted around Noctis began to crumble before exploding in a burst of shards. No, wait—these were not bits of the crystal. Floating among him were the flowers of Tenebrae. Sylleblossoms. He reached his hand up to touch them, the velvety petals stroking against his fingertips. Had this been some gift of Luna’s? A way to see what Ardyn had been through? Bahamut wouldn’t have offered Noctis the same vision, wouldn’t have given the “accursed” any sympathy. Ardyn had been nothing more than a disposable tool. Just like Luna. Like Noctis.

Noctis would go back to the real world from the crystal, and he would do as he vowed. He would end this torment of Ardyn’s, and see that he slept for good, in a place where his agony and the daemons inside him could not follow.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a difficult but enjoyable oneshot to write. Hopefully all my toiling away is enjoyable for someone else?


End file.
